


heavy in my bones

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Aunt May is underappreciated, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Dad!Tony, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, References to Depression, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Worried Tony, i wish i knew what i was doing, idk this is one giant vent tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 15:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: Being a teenaged superhero in high school is hard enough. Adding chronic pain to the mix? It’s nearly impossible.orFive times Peter lied to someone about his chronic pain, and one time he told the truth and got the help he needed.





	heavy in my bones

They’re working in the lab one afternoon when he starts to feel it. The ache in his fingers, annoying twinges of pain that he tries to rub off. The effort, Peter knows, is completely fucking futile. So, for the most part, he does what he normally does. That is, try to ignore it the best he can.

Beside him, Tony is pointing out various wires, showing him which ones need to be stripped, have connectors added and then crimped, and he obediently follows his directions, trying not to roll his eyes. Because come on. He did robotics at a school of technology and science.

After the whole Vulture fiasco, Tony’s guilt over taking Peter’s suit was enough to push him into offering Peter an actual, paid internship that takes place after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And every other weekend, he trains with the Avengers.

Which, in hindsight, would have been really convenient from the get-go, and his lying would have only been half-lies. But whatever. With the extra money, May’s been less stressed, and after catching him in his suit, is more than a little relieved to know he’s got Iron Man looking after him, at least. (That’s not to say she wasn’t pissed at first. She was.)

Pre-spider bite, crimping connectors to wires with his noodle arms had been a pain in the ass. You had to have one hell of a grip. But with his super-strength the plastic and metal connectors squeeze like butter.

Except on days like these.

Peter holds the tool lightly in his hands and starts to squeeze. Immediately, the deep ache in his joints flares to life, and the tool clatters onto the counter as he reflexively brings his other hand to grip the hurting one tightly.

But the pain originates deep in his bones, not something he can just massage away, and he bites his lip in frustration.

Tony doesn’t even look up at the sound. “Don’t ruin my wiring, kid,” he warns, but Peter’s too busy filling with dread to respond.

He hasn’t had a flare-up in months, but he should have known it was coming. It always shows up when he’s stressed, and the whole Vulture ordeal was enough stress to last him a lifetime. Never mind his nightly patrols. But he’d been fine.

 _God, please don’t start with this shit,_ he thinks. He doesn’t have the _time._

“Peter?”

He startles then, not realizing he’d been swept away by his frustrated thoughts. When he looks up, Tony is staring at him, brow furrowed.

Belatedly, Peter says, “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” and picks up the crimpers again.

Aware that his mentor’s gaze is still fastened to him, he reaches for a wire, slides a connector onto the end, and squeezes it, trying to make it appear effortless. Seeming mostly convinced, Tony just shrugs and goes back to work.

Peter grits his teeth his teeth and keeps his hands steady for the rest of the night.

* * *

It’s Saturday, and Natasha is working with him on basic hand-to-hand combat. His fighting is, according to her, “Mostly shitty and mediocre at best.” He’d been eating breakfast one morning when she sauntered in, quirked her brow, and gestured for him to follow.

And thus, the weekly routine began. He was always excited for these mornings – who the hell wouldn’t be? He’s training with Black Freaking Widow.

Today, however, he wants nothing more than to curl up on his bed and sleep, so he doesn’t have to feel the ever-present pain in his hands, a pain that’s now taken up residence in his ribs, hips, and knees.

It fucking _sucks._

After weeks of training, he’s finally gotten to a point where he can go on the offensive more often, but today, his focus is so torn that he can barely manage a simple block.

He’s frustrated and tired, and he ends up on his back more times than he can count. He’s doing so badly, in fact, that they’re drawing an audience. As he gets back up, he groans at the sight of Clint, Tony, Steve, and Sam all watching him critically.

Peter straightens out his shoulders, attempting to look less like an armadillo curling up for protection and more like the superhero he’s supposed to be.

This time, hyperaware of all the eyes on him, he goes on the offensive and tries to swipe Natasha’s feet out from under her. But even though his mind is sharp and quick, the pain in his bones weighs him down, and he’s too slow. She quickly flips backwards to avoid him, and turns, swiping _his_ feet out from under him before he even knows what’s happened.

He blinks, and he’s on his stomach, arm twisted painfully behind him.

“You’re slow today, Parker,” she critiques, crouching next to him. “What gives?” she asks, offering a hand up.

Peter looks around, and none of the Avengers are even trying to pretend they’re not eavesdropping. If anything, they’re all inching closer.

 _Stay cool, Parker, stay cool,_ he tells himself. _If you fuck this up, they won’t let you be Spider-Man._

“Oh, uh… You know, I really didn’t get much sleep last night. No big deal,” he says, shrugging. It’s not a lie. Well, not completely.

Natasha narrows her eyes, and Tony chimes in with, “No big deal, huh? You look like absolute shit. Wanna try that again?”

Peter makes a show of sighing and drooping exhaustedly. “Okay, so _maybe_ it’s not just last night. I don’t know, I haven’t really had any time to sleep lately. Not with midterms going on.”

Tony lets out a breath. “So what I’m hearing is less Spider-Man and more sleep for the spider baby?”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, back pedaling frantically. “No, no, please, Mr. Stark. It’s really not that bad! I’ll get a really good night’s sleep tonight, I promise,” he pleads, turning desperate eyes to his mentor. “And besides, my last exam is on Tuesday, and then everything will go back to normal.”

Tony studies him, considering. For a minute, no one speaks. Then, “Nat, what do you think?”

She’s still staring at him with a suspicious look, and he’s got no doubt she knows he’s lying through his teeth. He’s almost sure she’s going to call him out on it too, until –

“Let’s call it a day. Peter’s going to study and take a nap and eat three full meals, so he’s ready for the rest of his tests,” she says, giving him a no-nonsense look. “And no patrolling until exams are over.”

“But – “

“Ah ah, no,” Tony cuts him off. “The lady has spoken. Chief Spider, if you will. Go shower and get cleaned up. If we catch you trying to patrol, you’re grounded.”

“What!? I’m not even your – “

“If you feel like the rest of your sentence will probably be offensive, I’d advise you to can it now, kid.”

Peter just gapes at him.

“There, that’s a good man,” Tony says, clapping him on the back and walking out of the room.

Peter groans, and the others just chuckle in amusement. This wasn’t the result he’d been going for at all, but at least Tony didn’t take his suit.

It could have been much worse.

* * *

It gets much worse.

It’s been three weeks since exams finished, and Peter has done everything he can to avoid the Compound as much as possible. He still goes in for his internship during the week, but he’s been making up reasons not to stay at the Compound, scheduling sleepovers with Ned and hangouts with MJ.

And for the most part, he’s been met with few questions. If anything, everyone seems relieved at his desire to do normal teenage things with people his own age.

But he’s reached an all-time low in his flare-up, and he’s so frustrated and sick of being in pain that he’s just irritable and tired all the time.

He has meds, which are usually very effective, even with his higher metabolism, but in times like these, they just don’t do shit. The pain is everywhere now: his back, legs, every joint imaginable. The pain gnaws at him, strips him of all mental and physical energy.

MJ is the first one to call him out.

They’re sitting in Ned’s living room while he pops a bag of popcorn in the kitchen, and she’s taking in the way Peter’s tense in a setting he should be completely relaxed in.

“It’s bad again, isn’t it?” She phrases it like a question, but he knows it’s just a statement. A fact. He looks straight ahead at the TV, paused halfway through an episode of _Sherlock._

“No,” he says stonily.

She twists to face him. “Peter. You’re in pain. Why won’t you tell someone?”

At that, a desperate, longing anger surges through his veins and he turns on her.

“And say what, MJ?” he spits angrily. “What are they going to do that they haven’t already done? It’s been two years, and they still don’t even know what it _is._ They’ve already given me what meds they can. There’s nothing else anyone can _do,_ so I need to learn to suck it up and stop being a baby about a little bit of pain that nothing can be done about anyway. May’s just gonna worry if I tell her.”

MJ looks back at him calmly, scooting closer so she can take one of his hands in hers. He’s looking at the floor, breathing heavily, more than a little worked up but already feeling guilty for snapping at her.

“I’m sor –,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“No,” she says gently, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to go through this, and I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help. I just – I know you think going to people is futile, but I don’t think it would hurt to at least let people _be_ there for you.”

Peter thinks about that for a moment, listening to the microwave beep in the background. Then, he sighs.

“I just. I can’t, MJ. I have responsibilities and no one’s going to take me seriously if I can barely handle brushing my fucking teeth without being in pain. It’s just something I have to learn to deal with.”

She looks at him sadly.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve got ears and would maybe be willing to listen. Depending on the day of the week. You can schedule an appointment,” she half-jokes. He gives her a sly look.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually care about me!” Peter exclaims, pretending to be shocked. She slaps the back of his head lightly.

“Oh, don’t hold your breath, Parker. I’m just trying to get good content for my next drawing, and you’re properly distressed for the part,” she teases.

She squeezes his hand again, a gesture he knows is meant to say, _I’m here for you. Seriously._

He squeezes back, tearing up slightly. _Thank you._

She nods, a sad smile on her face. They moment is broken, however, when Ned comes bounding in with a bowl heaping with popcorn.

“Eating buttered popcorn is a religious experience, oh my god,” he practically moans, already shoving a handful into his mouth. He stops suddenly, sensing the previously somber atmosphere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks hesitantly, looking between MJ and Peter. Peter glances at her, sees the look in her eye that says, _This is your chance_ , and opens his mouth to confess.

But then he remembers that he’s Spider-Man and Ned looks at him like he hung the moon or some shit, and he decides that he can’t stand the thought of Ned knowing that even Spider-Man can be crippled by something as stupid as chronic pain.

So Peter just nods his head and says, “Yeah, we were just talking about how awful season four is. A real tragedy, you know?”

He tries to ignore the heavy sigh MJ lets out beside him.

* * *

Peter’s sitting at his desk, trying to do his calculus homework and ignore the knowing pain in his – everywhere – when May knocks on the door.

“Come in,” he mutters, trying to hold back a sigh of frustration. May softly steps in, a look of concern and slight determination on her face, and immediately, Peter knows there’s something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, watching as she sits on the side of his bed. For a moment, she says nothing, studying him and no doubt taking in the dark circles under his eyes.

“If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?” she asks seriously. Peter tries to keep his face neutral as all the things he’s keeping from her immediately surfaces in his mind.

“Of course. Why do you ask?” he questions, trying to sound nonchalant.

May pierces him with a sharp look. “You’re lying.”

Peter’s heart leaps to his throat. “Wh-What? No, what would make you think that?” he says in disbelief and winces, because _dammit, Peter, that’s your Obvious Lying Voice._

May just raises an eyebrow at him. At his silence, she sighs. “Peter,” she starts gently. “No offense, honey, but you look terrible. Have been for a few weeks now. And, well, at first, I just figured it was because of exams, you know? You always get stressed and don’t sleep enough. But it hasn’t gotten better. And I know I probably should have said something sooner, but I’ve been taking so many late shifts that I didn’t even notice for a while, and that makes me think – am I gone too much?”

Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t that. Without another thought, Peter jumps out of his chair and sits next to her.

 “No no no! No. No, that’s not – you’re the best, May. I’m in high school now. I don’t mind being alone. Plus, with the internship and decathlon, it’s not like I’m home much more than you are,” he reassures.

“Don’t forget your superhero shenanigans, which you conveniently left out,” she says pointedly.

“Ah, well. That certainly helps, too,” he admits with a sheepish look.

“Is that it? Is it the Spider-Man stuff that’s got you all – “ she gestures at his tired face.

“No!” he says firmly. “No, it’s fine, really. The Spider-Man stuff has been going great lately.” She looks at him almost desperately.

“Peter, please don’t lie to me,” she pleads. He looks at her with wide eyes.

“I’m not!” he argues defensively. “I mean, it’s not exactly all helping little girls find lost puppies and carrying groceries to people’s cars but like. It’s fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She looks at him sadly. “I don’t think you _are_ handling it, Peter. You’re overworking yourself. Your grades are dropping, you’re not sleeping enough, you’re tense all the time now. I mean, I know I can’t possibly understand the stuff you see every day, and I know there’s nothing I can really do to stop you, but – “ she runs a hand through her hand, looking helpless.

“May,” he says weakly, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. “It’s – I promise it’s not that. I can do this. I just. I’m still figuring everything out.”

May frowns, raising a hand to his cheek, and Peter instinctively leans into the touch. “Hey. Just promise me that you’ll go to someone. I know there’s so much I can’t understand about what you do, but promise that even if you don’t want to come to me, you’ll talk to Mr. Stark or someone. Okay?” she asks, bringing her other hand to cup his face so he’s forced to look her in the eye.

Peter hates this.

 _You could just tell her the truth. She’s always been understanding about this,_ a voice in his mind reminds him. But no. Everyone already seems to think being a teenager and being a superhero is too much, and he knows that as soon as he tells anyone how bad the pain is, they’ll make him stop. Plus, when the chronic pain first started, May always worried and was upset that there wasn’t anything she could do.

 Besides, eventually the flare in pain will die down into something more manageable.

So he just swallows the lump in his throat and nods, leaning forwards and hugging her tightly. “I promise,” he says thickly.

And right alongside the pain, guilt settles itself deep in his bones.

* * *

The microwave clock reads 3:47AM.

Peter sits on a bar stool at the island in the kitchen, mindlessly munching on a cookie, Organic Chemistry textbook open in front of him.

He’d tried going to sleep hours ago, but lying in bed only served to emphasize the dull throbbing throughout his body. Frustrated and tired, he decided that if he wasn’t going to sleep, he could at least be productive.

For a brief second, he’d entertained the idea of going out on patrol, but since it’s a Compound weekend, he decided it wouldn’t be wise, knowing that FRIDAY would probably rat him out. Besides, Peter didn’t think his joints could handle all the extra exertion. His energy seemed to drain from him quicker than ever, and his daily routine was enough to wear him out entirely.

Peter puts his pencil down when his hand begins to protest at the use. Frustrated and wanting nothing more than to sleep, Peter slumps forward and rests his cheek on the textbook, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.

Immediately, with the absence of visual stimuli, all of Peter’s senses seemed to hone in on the pains throughout his body. A whimper works its way up his throat, and he chokes it down forcefully.

“Peter?”

The teenager jerks up instantly, turning around to face the speaker. He’s met with Steve, who’s looking at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Oh, h- hey, Mr. Ameri – uh, Mr. Captain Rogers – sir,” Peter stutters in a rush, exhaustion jumbling all the words in his brain. The man only furrows his brows further.

“Steve is fine, Peter. You know this,” he says carefully, slowing walking forward and pulling out a stool next to the boy.

Peter fidgets with a pencil nervously, a strange mixture of exhaustion and alertness clouding his vision. He stares incomprehensively at the equation he’d written on a piece of scratch paper, trying to avoid the Avenger’s gaze.

 _Which, by the way, is absolutely nuts,_ he thinks. He’s sitting next to Captain America in Tony Stark’s kitchen doing organic chemistry! Wild.

Peter’s startled from his thoughts as Steve reaches for a cookie.

“Big test tomorrow?” he asks, nodding pointedly at the schoolwork.

Peter shrugs. “Nah, the test isn’t until next week. Just thought I’d get a little bit of studying and practice in.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “It is four o’clock in the morning,” he points out. Peter rubs at the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

“Ah, well. Never too early or late in the day to study,” he says lamely.

Steve just tilts his head, takes a bite of his cookie, and says, “You couldn’t sleep.” It’s not accusatory, and it’s not a question. It’s matter-of-fact statement, and Peter knows it’s not even worth denying it.

He just shrugs again. “Just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Studying helps.”

“Ah.” Steve studies the boy in front of him, noting the dark circles that are ever-present on the boy these days, coupled with the underlying tension that never seems to leave him. Peter shrinks and looks away from the force of the captain’s gaze.

“Hey Peter?” he says gently, beckoning for the boy’s attention.

“Hi,” Peter says back, and Steve can’t help but smile at the kid’s endearing awkwardness.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. I won’t pry. But I _do_ want you to know that all of us are here for you. Even if you just need us to sit with you and watch a movie – we’re here. You can tell us anything, and we’ll never look at you differently.”

And damn if that isn’t exactly what Peter needed to hear. Tears pool in his eyes, unbidden, and he blinks them away furiously.

“I bet Mr. Stark would have an aneurism if I tried to talk feelings with him,” Peter tries to joke, but it falls flat as Steve levels him with a serious look.

“No, Peter. Everyone’s worried about you. _Especially_ Tony. The man cares about you a lot,” Steve informs him, and Peter’s heart warms, even as his face shows disbelief.

Steve grabs another cookie and stands up, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Just. Keep it in mind, okay? We’re all here for you. Please don’t forget it,” Steve reiterates, clapping him gently on the back. Peter swallows the lump of emotion in his throat and nods, not trusting his voice to speak.

Steve ruffles his hair affectionately before walking out of the kitchen.

And when the rest of the Avengers stumble in two hours later, Peter pretends he’s only been up for a couple of minutes.

* * *

Peter’s tired of pretending.

It’s only been a few days since his talk with Steve, and Peter feels like he could shake apart at any moment. There’s a war going on in his body, he thinks. If he closes his eyes, he can see the nerves firing and misfiring at the same time that he _feels_ it.

His body is waging war against itself and the only marks he has to show for it are the crescents his nails leave in the palms of his hands from clenching his fists from the pain.

He’s barely managing patrol anymore, his only motivation being the thought that if he’s not out there, people could die.

The worst part, he thinks, is that there’s no escape. Spider-Man was always his greatest escape. Peter Parker is lame. Awkward. Insecure. Quiet.

But Spider-Man? He’s witty and confident and popular in a way that Peter Parker could never be. Being Spider-Man is such a breath of relief from being Peter Parker.

The pain, though, seems to blur the line between the two, and Peter is so tired. So _fucking_ tired because there isn’t a single thing that offers him relief. He can’t just slip on his mask to whisk the pain away, because it rests far beneath his suit, sits so heavily in his bones.

He’s not sure how he makes it through school anymore. He’s stopped taking notes completely – his hands are in too much pain to keep a grip on his pencil for too long. He gets an email from MJ one day, and attached to it is all of her notes.

When he tries to thank her the next day, she just huffs at him. “Don’t thank me, Parker. I’m not doing you a favor; I just need you to go through and look for any errors. Not that there are any. But just as a precaution, you know?”

And Peter rolls his eyes, because of course MJ would make helping him sound like a favor for herself.

By the time Peter gets out of school, he feels like every inch of his body is bruising from the inside, and there’s not a single position or thing he can do to relieve it.

Happy is waiting outside to take him to the Compound and he fumbles with the handle of the car door, ignoring the strange look Happy tosses his way when he finally gets it open and slides in.

The ride there is quiet, not filled with Peter’s usual chatter about his day, because he is too damn tired and in pain to do anything extra. He doesn’t even notice the worried looks Happy gives him through the rearview mirror.

All that registers in Peter’s brain is _pain pain pain_ and his enhanced senses are making everything ten times worse and what if it never gets better? What if he’s forced to live out the rest of his life in pain? Can that even be considered _living_? _God, maybe being_ dead _would be better than this._

The thought stops Peter cold. He stops breathing, horrified at himself for even _thinking_ such a thing, even as the thought seems to open up a gaping hole of hopelessness around him.

He panics because he doesn’t want to live like this anymore, he doesn’t want to be stuck like this forever and he doesn’t want to die but living like this isn’t living at all and he’s lost and tired and suddenly he’s in an elevator and the doors are opening up to Tony’s lab and Tony’s there, fixing things and _maybe he can fix Peter, too._

Peter stumbles in, calling his name frantically. “Tony, Tony please help me, please fix me, I can’t – I can’t _do_ this anymore, I don’t – I don’t –“

In the blink of an eye, the man is in front him, gripping his arms and scanning the teen with an alarmed look on his face.

“Peter – Pete, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”

The last question is his total undoing. Tears spill down his cheeks and he looks at his mentor with big, desperate eyes before letting out a choked, “ _Everywhere._ ”

Tony looks frantic now, hands roaming, searching for an injury. Peter’s crying in earnest now, fear tightening its grip on him.

“Shh, hey Pete. Peter, it’s okay. I need you to calm down and tell me what happened, okay? Can you do that for me?” Tony asks, guiding the fragile-looking kid to a chair.

Peter inhales shakily, looking up at Tony and grounding himself in the man’s concerned gaze.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mr. Stark. Please. I’m in so much pain – it’s c-chronic – but the medicine doesn’t help anymore and it just doesn’t stop – it’s everywhere. I can’t make it go away, _please_ make it go away,” Peter pleads with childlike desperation. “I can’t _live_ like this.”

Tony looks at the distressed teenager before him, understanding coloring his features as pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“Peter, you have chronic pain?” he asks, and Peter nods quickly.

“I had it before – before Spider-Man. The doctors gave me medicine to help but now it’s bad again and the medicine isn’t working and Mr. Stark, I’m so _tired._ ”

Tony’s heart breaks at the words. In an uncharacteristic display of affection, he gathers the crying kid into his arms, hugging him fiercely as Peter cries into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Peter, I've got you. I promise we’ll fix this. We’ll find a way to fix this,” he says firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

And for the first time in weeks, Peter swells with hope.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this whole thing is pretty much completely based off my own experience with chronic pain. It is frustrating and isolating and wears you down physically and mentally. It's been almost a year and we're still trying to get to the root of mine. However, I get really bad flare-ups every now and then, and just got over a particularly bad one. This whole story was basically a vent.
> 
> Just ignore any inconsistencies about how his spider bite should have kept the medicine working from the beginning. I don't care enough and I'm tired.
> 
> Also, I've just gotten through my first month and a half of college. This was the first time I've ever had to deal with a flare-up away from home, which has been hard. I tend to get really depressed - even a bit suicidal - when these happen, so it's been a huge adjustment mentally.
> 
> Anywho. Please please please leave a comment on what you think. They really brighten my day, and I love hearing from you guys! I really hope you liked it!! Come yell at me on tumblr @the-great-escapism!!
> 
> ((Also, holy shit, that Captain Marvel trailer!!!!))


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